


News from Abroad

by Crowgirl



Series: Strange Mechanicals [2]
Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Jealousy, M/M, Non-Chronological, Off-screen Relationship(s), Unorthodox Marriages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 19:46:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7983895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In fact, the paperwork takes James no time at all because there is nothing to finish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	News from Abroad

‘Where is Julia this week?’ James asks, putting down his empty coffee cup.

William turns the envelope over and glances at it, holding the pages of the letter in his other hand. ‘Geneva, I think. Somewhere near there, anyway. This is her holiday before she goes back to Paris.’

‘Oh, yes, well, who doesn’t need a break before going back to Paris.’ James is tempted to roll his eyes but refrains, instead fixing his gaze on the rhododendrons at the far end of the garden. There was a time when he would have meant the remark entirely without irony but now the house is almost all that remains of his fortune. At this point, he probably would need the break just to steel himself against the novelty -- not to mention the curiosity of those who remember him from former days.

‘I think the disappointment of Germany was harder on her than she’s saying,’ William says thoughtfully, turning over the second page of the letter.

‘Mm.’

‘The medical school’s refusal to admit Elizabeth upset her a great deal. Particularly when they wouldn’t admit they were refusing because of...well, because she’s black. Julia cut her time there short because of it, you know.’

‘Yes.’ James stares at the bushes, letting his eyes unfocus until all he can see is a blur of green. ‘Yes, of course, it would.’ It isn’t that he dislikes Julia; he doesn’t. And he isn’t happy about the Leipzig school’s refusal to admit the half-Indian Elizabeth either; if he still knew anyone in the city, he’d be doing his best to make sure she got an apology and offer of whatever work she wanted.

‘But they know they can work together in the _hôpital_ in Nancy.’

But when he talks about her, there’s a tone in William’s voice James can’t ever quite read and, even after so long, it makes him feel faintly melancholy, a little sad to think there is this part of William that he really doesn’t understand. 

‘They’re thinking of spending a second week in Switzerland--’ There’s a rustle of paper and William laughs. ‘--Ah, I see: to make up for a disagreement about where to go the first week.’

‘Oh.’ James claps his hands on his knees and pushes himself to his feet. ‘Well, I have some paperwork to see to.’

William looks up. ‘On a Saturday?’

‘Some things I didn’t finish last night.’ James kisses the top of William’s head in passing, grateful that -- on weekends at least -- he’s convinced William to forego the hair oil. ‘Don’t worry; it won’t take me long.’

* * *

In fact, the paperwork takes him no time at all because there is nothing to finish. He goes to his desk first just to make himself feel slightly better about the lie but there isn’t anything there except for a couple of journals that don’t look any more interesting this morning than they did the night before. He wanders around his worktables, pushes open a pair of French doors to let in fresh air, picks up some unused copper wire and coils it back on itself. Once the wire is in a neat wreath, he puts it down and looks around the big room. 

He had initially offered William half the room for his own work, but Murdoch prefers his space in the attic. Occasionally James was very glad of it: William tends to play with chemicals more than he does and having the terrible smells high up had been a good thing more than once. 

Just at this moment, though, the lack of anyone else’s presence -- the lack of _William’s_ presence -- in the room besides his makes him feel tired and, foolishly enough, lonely. There must be six people within sound of a raised voice, not counting William, and he feels _lonely._ All because of a woman three thousand miles away who is probably happily climbing an Alpine mountain with her...friend. Which, he’s aware, is no more an accurate summation of Julia and Elizabeth’s relationship than calling William his friend would be.

Honesty won’t even let him have the thin consolation of blaming his current feeling of isolation on the criminal populace of Toronto, or Inspector Brackenreid’s hatred of doing his own paperwork, or the latest gadgetry from New York City. Or even on his own once-unwavering determination to be alone rather than be duped again as Sally had duped him. That would have had a kind of nobility to it at the time, he likes to think: isolation from principle. If his judgment was so poor then he simply wouldn’t trust it; being alone was better than being a fool, especially the fool of a woman like Sally. It had been a barrier William had not so much barged through as waited patiently outside of until it crumbled on its own.

He shakes his head firmly and picks up the coil of copper wire. If he has time to stand here and feel pointlessly miserable, he has time to give this room the cleaning it needs.

* * *

‘James, I was-- Oh. My.’

William’s voice brings James out from under a table where he had been on his knees in pursuit of a thick roll of dust with the aid of a long, thin dowel and his handkerchief. ‘Yes?’ 

‘I thought you said you were doing paperwork.’ William looks like he can’t decide whether to laugh or not.

‘Paperwork?’ James pushes his hair back off his forehead and leans his forearm on the edge of the table, trying to think what William is talking about. ‘Oh! Paperwork! Yes!’ He scrambles to his feet, dropping the _ad hoc_ duster on the table, and starts vainly trying to brush himself clean. ‘I -- yes, well, I finished that and -- you know how it is--’ He gestures at the room. One table is covered with tools where he had started gathering those scattered around the room; another has a tangled stack of armatures from a project which had, quite literally, collapsed on his hands and which he has been meaning to unknot for weeks now and never quite seems to get to. ‘One thing just leads to another and--’ He waves his hands and becomes aware of a thick strand of cobweb clinging to his cuff.

‘I thought you were coming back out to the garden,’ William says, crossing the room to him and pulling the cobweb off his sleeve.

‘You were busy.’

‘With one letter?’

‘Well. You often like to reply to Julia as soon as you can.’ James can’t tell if he sounds petulant or not. 

Over the past -- however long it has been that he’s been cleaning, he’s come to the conclusion that he is feeling petulant, more than a little so. He’s a jealous man, he’s perfectly well aware of that. Over the years, he has come to value it as a reaction; it serves to underline things -- and people -- that are important. He is jealous of his work, the privacy of his house. Part of the reason he had known there was something more than he anticipated in his feeling for William was the gut-level punch of feeling -- _mine_ \-- the first time he had heard William had been injured on the job. He counts himself lucky that the feeling had been so clear that it startled him into introspection rather than rushing around to the station or -- worse -- the hospital to make a complete fool of himself.

William sighs and plucks another bit of cobweb off James’ sleeve, rolling it into a tiny ball between his fingers. ‘You’re still jealous of her. I honestly do not see _why--’_ William visibly stops himself.

‘I am not jealous of Julia,’ James says, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a firm grip on his own rolled-back sleeves to keep himself from fussing. He’s relieved to feel no hot rush of guilt after the words which would indicate that, even after all this time, he’s still lying. ‘I’m not,’ he repeats, for the pleasure of hearing the truth in his own voice. ‘Truly, William.’

Murdoch has his head cocked on one side, dark eyes watching him closely. ‘All right. What are you … jealous of, then?’

‘I’m jealous of _you.’_ It’s not often that James gets to surprise an unconsidered reaction out of William and he treasures every single instance. In this case, William blinks rapidly several times and opens his mouth as if to speak and then shuts it again without saying anything. His forehead knots and smoothes out several times as he almost visibly tries to hook together information into a coherent story. 

‘That -- doesn’t make sense,’ William says finally. ‘How can you be jealous of me when I’m right here?’

‘Because I’m not a very logical man.’ 

‘You’re certainly not a very organized man,’ William agrees, glancing around the workroom. 

‘I can find anything in this room in less than two minutes and you know it.’

‘So find me an explanation for jealousy of someone present _in_ the room.’ William’s expression softens from his investigatory one and he steps in against James, flattening his palms on the table behind James’ hips. James takes the moment to recognize the additional sign of his own foolishness: two years ago, William would never have gotten this close without explicit invitation; three years ago, he would have been at the door of the room; five years ago, he would have been in the hallway and still had his hat in his hand. Here and now he’s almost standing on James’ toes and _still_ James cannot shake that childish feeling of being left out. ‘Jealousy suggests absence.’

James shakes his head. ‘Not at all. Jealousy implies fear.’ The words catch in his throat and he coughs, a little theatrically. 

‘Fear,’ William repeats flatly. 

‘Irrational fear.’

‘Of what?’

‘Loss.’ The word comes out before he means it to and James refocuses his eyes on the knot of William’s tie before realizing that’s a terrible, obvious tell and looking back up at his face.

‘Loss of...what?’ William doesn’t look pleased as he usually does when he figures something out; instead, he still looks puzzled and it takes James a minute to realise that William has probably never felt that nagging sense of possible, impending loss. His losses have been quick, clean breaks with no ragged edges. 

James opens his mouth, then closes it again. ‘Of...of nothing.’ He’s backing down, he knows he is and he can’t stop himself. ‘It isn’t important.’

William frowns and glances around the room. ‘You’ve torn your entire workroom apart,... forgive me, but it _looks_ important.’ He shifts his hands, bracketing James’ hips more tightly. ‘I’m _here,_ James.’

‘Yes, love, I know you are.’ James rarely allows himself endearments but this one comes out before he thinks. 

‘Do you think I want to be somewhere else?’ _With Julia_ is left unspoken and James is grateful for it.

He shakes his head. ‘No. Not at all.’ And he knows that’s true; it isn’t as though he doesn’t trust William to make his preferences known. If he is here and says this is where he wants to be, James believes him. There may come a time when he looks back on his decision to believe with the same angry self-castigation he does when thinking about his first encounters with Sally -- but he doesn't think it will. This feeling stems from something far less logical than that, something that doesn’t respond to facts.

William looks at him for a long minute, then says, ‘You want me to...to guess at what the problem is?’

‘God, no.’

‘You realise if you don’t tell me--’

‘--you’ll detect at me until you figure it out?’

‘Professional handicap.’ The tone is faintly apologetic but William doesn’t look even passingly sorry.

James sighs and reaches up to push a lock of hair off William’s forehead. Without the heavy oil, his dark hair ends up looking almost shaggy despite the fact that James knows perfectly well how neatly it’s cut. ‘It is -- uncomfortable sometimes --’

 _‘What_ is?’ William clearly reads James’ pause as a stop and presses him, literally leaning forward against him although James doesn’t think he realises he’s doing it.

‘Realizing there’s an entire piece of your life I have no part of.’ James grimaces as he hears himself. It sounds even worse in the open air, more childish, like complaining that his best friend can’t come over to play because it’s school time. He hurries on: ‘I’m happy that _you_ are, of course. Happy, I mean. It isn’t that I --’ He stops himself just in time before he says a flat-out lie.

William looks at him narrowly for a long minute, then his expression relaxes -- as does his body, standing so close to James that he can feel the brush of their clothes. The teasing sensation sends a tingle along James’ nerves and he firmly schools himself to ignore it. This is neither the time nor the place -- although it _has_ been the place in the past and, he’s sure, probably will be again in the future. 

‘You thought you were the only one who felt that?’

This is not the question James was bracing for and it takes him a minute to catch up. He blinks at William in silence. ‘What?’

William smiles at him. ‘How do you think I feel when you go to San Francisco for weeks at a time?’

‘I was looking for investors for the--’

‘Or to Montreal for a month?’

‘That was for the bank--’

‘And what about the week in Vancouver?’

‘William! That was for _your_ brother! _You_ asked me to go!’

William shrugs. ‘You still weren’t with me.’

‘You could have come with me! I _asked_ you to!’

‘And I couldn’t, I know. There’s nothing I could do about that; the Inspector would have handcuffed me to my desk rather than let me leave for a week in the middle of an election and two murder investigations.’ William grimaces at the memory. ‘Honestly, I would have much rather been with you.’ 

‘And your brother’s business--’

‘Which was bailing our father out again, let’s not mince words about it.’

‘--couldn’t wait, so I--’ James stops. ‘I thought -- you always -- you never -- it never seemed to bother you.’

William laughs. ‘You weren’t supposed to know it did.’

‘But -- I -- why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about -- this?’ William flourishes a hand at the workroom. 

‘I --’ James glances around the room helplessly, then subsides back against the table and leans his forehead on William’s shoulder. He talks to the lapel of William’s waistcoat rather than his face. ‘It’s not...exactly the sort of thing a grown man likes admitting to.’

‘No,’ William agrees, his hand coming up to cover the back of James’ neck, his thumb stroking a line down the side of his throat. 

James is silent for a minute, linking his own hands behind William’s back, inhaling the faint scents of soap and starch, strong coffee, and a hint of the pungent marigolds planted near the breakfast table. He can feel William’s breathing, slow and steady, and turns his head to rest his cheek against William’s shoulder, closing his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says finally. ‘I should have told you.’

William shrugs, the movement improbably moving him closer so there’s nothing _but_ the a few layers of cloth separating them. James can feel him, warm and solid, all along the front of his body. William's hands are firm against the small of his back and James can feel his thumb rubbing slow circles near his spine. ‘I could say the same.’

James clears his throat, moving his head slightly so his lips move against William’s throat. ‘So since we’ve decided we’re both more or less foolish---’ He feels the vibration as William laughs. ‘--would you be kind enough to bestow some of your organizational genius on me?’ He straightens up and gestures at the room. ‘I really could use it.’

William’s cheeks are pink and he looks very slightly disappointed but tries to cover it with a cough. He takes a step back, glancing around the room. ‘Yes -- yes, I--’

‘Of course,’ James says, stepping forward and running his hand down William’s chest, stopping just above his belt buckle. He presses slightly harder with his fingertips, the movement both a reminder of how sensitive William is over his abdomen and a suggestion of what might be were less cotton in the way. ‘I don’t think that will take the entire day.’

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to come back with better notes for this when I'm not feeling so entirely wiped out. I apologize if I have inadvertently maligned the reputation of the University of Leipzig.


End file.
